Syncopation
by Fleure Seraphine
Summary: (Okay, so I don't have a good idea of where this story is going just yet; bear with me.) I do know that there will be a handful of innuendo in it, much like the series has, so parental guidance is suggested. I guess.


(Note: The characters written in this tale are not my own, neither is their world of my creation. This is simply my homage to the wonder that is Aeon Flux, and my undying love to Peter Chung for all his genious. This is purely for my own creative expression; in no way do I or will I ever profit from this story; I simply love Aeon Flux. In other words - please don't sue. )  
  
:: Syncopation  
  
(UNDECIDED OPENING TEXT BLURB. So kill me.)  
  
The mechanical chugging of the machinery overhead is oddly hypnotic; Aeon finds her eyes growing heavy. The sweet lullaby of the perpetual metal, tediously chug, chug, chug...chug...chugging...  
  
Darkness enveloping her like a warm blanket in her crouched position against the pillar, her arms collapse, her gun tumbles to the floor with a racket. Eyelids snapping wide open again, she hears the inevitable sound somewhere over the metalic symphony...footsteps. Running. Speeding their way towards her. Squinting faintly with a sigh, her consciousness fully returned to her, she quickly surveys the area; she must think quickly. Railing, drop to a lower floor, approximately five feet infront of her. Several structures and ballasts jutting from the patchwork ceiling overhead; chains dangling from a miasma of seemingly useless gears, levers, and panels above her. Stroking at her gun and wrapping her fingers so delicately around it again, gazing at the perfect chrome of it's exterior; almost sensuous. There's always a spare minute to revel in the majesty (and phallic quality) of your weapon...  
  
Peeking so carefully around the pillar...four, five...six? Sneering and pulling away, she sets her attention on the railing before her. 'I guess there's no choice...' she mumbles under baited breath, allowing a smile to creep across her lips. Oh, how she loves it...  
  
With enormous strides, she rises from her crouch and advances on the railing, the harmonic clattering of gun shots inevitably ringing out behind her, echoing off the wide and metal walls of warehouse T537. She vaults herself onto the railing, hands firmly wrapping around it, feet high to the intoxicating machinery above her. The warehouse guards, dressed exactly as she had anticipated they would be in their brown coveralls and white, tight fitted shirts, following ever-persistantly.  
  
Glancing down in her peripheral vision, she sees several other large machines on the floor below, and walkways connecting over a vast array of tables, conveyers, shelves, controls...; returning her gaze to the guards, desperately trying to improve their aim (aim it seems they do not have), Aeon winks, grins, and finally allows herself to drop, back to the ground, falling falling...into a mid-air tumble before lowering her hands below her legs and forcing herself into a full horizontal split, perching herself, grasping with fingers too strained to be grasping, atop one of the machines below.  
  
"Good night, boys," she sings out as she hops down from the machine, reaching into her bag and pulling out five of what seem to be metal rods, topped with small faintly gilded spheres. Tossing them decidedly out before her, each tumbles to the ground and, from the bottom of their metal shafts, sprout six thin, jointed, metal limbs, surrounding a center pin, of sorts. Crawling about the ground in their individual directions as Aeon races out of the warehouse, slamming the doors wide open before her; the guards, too confused to do much else, stare in horror at the small mechanical spiders scurrying about below them, until finding what could only be considered or described as a "suitable host" (much more specifically, perhaps a fine, tasty looking chunk of metal, or a particularly sweet looking area of floor) and plunging their pins into their surface. Their high pitched whining is the last sound those guards ever hear...  
  
Standing atop the cliff, Aeon watches the flames surround and devour the warehouse with a certain...satisfaction. "Oh Trevor, you know you love these little interludes..."  
  
The clanking of the metal tumbling to the ground, the feverish hum of the fire seeming to grasp for the sky..."Music to my ears."  
  
((Much love for Aeon. To be continued, of course. Review if you wish. It would be appreciated.)) 


End file.
